


The Original Conjuring Cat

by little Alex (litalex)



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-01
Updated: 2003-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-19 23:50:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/litalex/pseuds/little%20Alex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: These two gorgeous, gorgeous men do not belong to me, but to Panzer/Davis Productions, Gaumont Television, Rysher, and various other people/companies that I can't remember at the moment. Lucky bastards.</p><p>Spoiler(s): None, really; just general knowledge of Methos hanging out with DM around the Paris barge; pre CAH/Rev 6:8, perhaps.</p><p>Warning(s): cruelty to cute animals, namely one DMotCM; light-hearted mockery of a historian whom I know nothing about; and sexless PWP alert</p><p>Feedback: Gods, yes, please, at litalex at gmail dot com</p><p>Notes: Dedicated to Tritoella, who demanded kitten fic. Title shamelessly stolen from T.S. Eliot's "Mr. Mistoffelees". Anything that makes sense is Charles's fault (it's all his fault anyway) and all remaining mistakes are mine.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Original Conjuring Cat

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: These two gorgeous, gorgeous men do not belong to me, but to Panzer/Davis Productions, Gaumont Television, Rysher, and various other people/companies that I can't remember at the moment. Lucky bastards.
> 
> Spoiler(s): None, really; just general knowledge of Methos hanging out with DM around the Paris barge; pre CAH/Rev 6:8, perhaps.
> 
> Warning(s): cruelty to cute animals, namely one DMotCM; light-hearted mockery of a historian whom I know nothing about; and sexless PWP alert
> 
> Feedback: Gods, yes, please, at litalex at gmail dot com
> 
> Notes: Dedicated to Tritoella, who demanded kitten fic. Title shamelessly stolen from T.S. Eliot's "Mr. Mistoffelees". Anything that makes sense is Charles's fault (it's all his fault anyway) and all remaining mistakes are mine.

It was a beautiful day.

The sun was shining and the sky a clear and brilliant blue. Methos could  
even hear birds' chirping here and there. He would have loved such a day  
any where else, but in Paris, such fine weather always made him a little  
suspicious. No matter, though. It was a gorgeous day and he intended to  
enjoy it thoroughly -- which was why at 11 AM, one hour after he woke  
up, he was sprawling in a chair on top of MacLeod's barge, reading _The  
Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_, one of the funniest books he had  
ever encountered. Methos had met his share of deluded mortal historians,  
but this one truly beat all.

Five minutes into the book, a thin wail assaulted Methos's ears. He  
glanced around, attempting to find the culprit for the noise, and  
finally focused on the boy standing right next to the barge. Rubbing his  
eyes repeatedly, the child was apparently crying his eyes out at the  
river, if the trembling shoulders were any indication. Methos narrowed  
his eyes in calculation. Well, perhaps not right next to the barge;  
there were at least 3 to 4 meters between the barge and the boy. The  
sobbing, however, was loud enough and clear enough to travel more than  
15 meters, Methos was sure.

God, how annoying. Where were the boy's parents? Why weren't they taking  
care of this? Well, no matter, none of his business anyway. Shaking his  
head a little, Methos delved back into his book. Thirty seconds later he  
violently threw it down to the table. A child's sobbing should no more  
affect him than MacLeod's brooding, but both made him want to pull his  
hair out. Fine, he would go see what was wrong.

He stalked his way to the child. "What's wrong?" he asked in French,  
pitching his voice softly enough so as not to scare the boy.

"My kitten," the child answered in English, which surprised Methos just  
a little. One hand still rubbing his eyes, the boy pointed at a floating  
card-box still relatively close to the shore. "I dropped my kitten."

Now that the kid had mentioned it, Methos could hear very clearly the  
little meows in the wind. He glanced at the box again, wondering why it  
was still intact, then saw the rather shiny exterior of the box. Ah,  
waxed surface. Methos looked back at the child, taking in the boy's  
size; no more than...eight, Methos supposed. Not nearly big enough to  
carry that large box around. *Where* the fuck were the boy's parents?  
What the bloody hell was an English-speaking child doing in the middle  
of Paris anyway? Methos looked at the box, looked at the boy, and looked  
back at the box. Well, he could probably find something long enough in  
Mac's barge to drag the box back to the shore. Might as well, now. "Wait  
here for a moment, okay?" he said, this time in English.

The boy nodded, his face still in his hands.

Methos walked quickly back to the barge and grabbed a random long pole,  
which turned out to be a mop. Holding the mop a little awkwardly, he  
jogged back to the child and proceeded to hook the box to the mop. Soon  
enough, the box was right next to the shore. Methos bent down to grab  
the box and felt a pair of small hands shoving him into the water.

Surfacing almost immediately after, he spat the water out of his mouth  
and stared at the now sitting child, who was expectedly giggling like  
mad with his arms around his middle. From this angle, Methos could see  
very well the long and transparent fishing line attached to the box, the  
other end naturally in the damn kid's hand. He swam to the box and  
opened it, the whelp laughing too hard to stop him or, indeed, do much  
of anything. Methos peeked in and, lo and behold, no kitten, just a  
small stereo playing kitten sounds.

Methos flashed a feral smile at the demon-spawn of a child and swiftly  
climbed back up the shore. The wretch abruptly stopped laughing and  
started running, but his short legs were no match for Methos's much  
longer ones. Methos hauled the flea-bitten brat under his arm and was  
completely ready to throw the struggling whelp into the water when--

"Adam, stop!" shouted someone with a voice amazingly similar to  
MacLeod's. Methos turned sharply around and saw a worried MacLeod  
running toward them. Methos released the demon-spawn and watched him run  
to the Boy Scout, who was obviously holding something in one arm, very  
close to his chest. Odd. MacLeod kneeled down and hugged the misbegotten  
wretch, who was already talking rapidly in French, his face filled with  
the most innocently contrite expression, no doubt explaining all events  
to his favor. MacLeod listened attentively, though he did manage to send  
Methos the occasional glare. When the despicable boy finished, MacLeod  
stood up and they both went toward Methos, the brat jogging a bit in  
front of MacLeod and smiling extremely smugly.

Methos flashed his most beatific smile in response and had the pleasure  
of watching the little guttersnipe blanch and suddenly stop. MacLeod  
finally reached where Methos was standing, with Methos's staring at the  
mewing kitten against MacLeod's chest. MacLeod gave the kitten to the  
thrice-damned child, waved both whelps into the barge, and turned to  
Methos promptly. "Adam, Mikey is just a kid! He obviously didn't mean to--"

Methos ignored MacLeod's words. The most important task now was to  
gather information so that he could plan his revenge accordingly.  
"What's the brat's name? What's he doing here?"

Mac blinked. "Michael McCormick. I promised his parents to baby-sit him  
for the weekend." Sternly, he began again, "Adam--"

"The kitten?"

"Adam!" the self-righteous Boy Scout huffed at Methos, who gave MacLeod  
only the most serene look, and MacLeod eventually relented. "Mikey  
picked her up. He couldn't bear to see her starve to death."

Methos snorted silently. That base-born wretch wasn't human enough to  
care about cute little animals. Not that Methos did either. Well, not  
most of the time, anyway. He focused on MacLeod again, whose mouth was  
open and apparently about to berate Methos more. Methos cut him off  
before he could begin. "And the box?"

MacLeod frowned and sighed. "Came with the cat. We picked up the kitten  
and Mikey just grabbed the box and ran off. I came back immediately to  
call his parents, actually, but apparently Mikey beat me home." MacLeod  
shrugged. "Mikey said he remembered where I lived from what his parents  
told him and rode the bus here."

Hmm, pretty bright kid, then. Far too bright for his own good, that's  
for sure; and everyone else's, considering. Methos frowned at MacLeod,  
who was still talking, but Methos had already tuned him out. A smile  
suddenly appeared on Methos's lips. Since the whole deal was MacLeod's  
fault in the first place, perhaps Methos should enlist the boy's help  
and they could have some fun with Mac instead. Methos's smile  
brightened. Oh, yes.

MacLeod had now stopped and was simply staring at Methos with a puzzled  
look on his face. Good look on him, really. Methos strode past him and  
into the barge, MacLeod following a few steps behind. "Mikey" was  
sitting on the sofa and reading, absent-mindedly stroking the kitten's  
fur. Aw, such a peaceful and adorable scene, and so obviously  
manufactured for MacLeod's benefit that only MacLeod wouldn't notice.  
Methos cleared his throat.

The brat looked up smiling, his smile faltering only for half a second  
when he saw Methos, and bounded up. Grinning, Methos dragged the kid  
away from MacLeod and dropped down to his knees, his hands clasping the  
boy's small shoulders. Sotto-voce, he said, "Let's make a deal."

His gaze darting down and then up to Methos's eyes again, the child  
merely raised an eyebrow.

"You stop plaguing my life and I'll help you with whatever you want with  
Mac."

The whelp narrowed his eyes and whispered, "What makes you think I don't  
have him wrapped around my little finger in the first place?"

Methos stood up and, knowing exactly how much the brat would hate it,  
ruffled the kid's hair. "I'll take the cat off your hands, 'kay?"

The child blinked, finally surprised, and nodded. "Deal." He proffered  
his hand.

Methos shook it firmly. The two co-conspirators sneaked glances at  
MacLeod and then grinned cheerfully at each other. Methos turned toward  
MacLeod. "I'm going to use your bathroom, if you don't mind." MacLeod  
nodded, still looking extremely confused, and Methos whistled his way  
into the bathroom.

It seemed that, despite all appearances, today would indeed be a  
beautiful day.

fin


End file.
